


the future holds us

by actualraptcr



Category: Primeval
Genre: All the times they could've been soft for each other, M/M, bc I have no chill and no shame, s3 coda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualraptcr/pseuds/actualraptcr
Summary: season 3 coda. there were many chances for becker and connor to become a bit more than teammates, and a lot more than friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written primeval fanfic in like 7 years but i've been ride or die feral for this show since it aired and so i thought why the fuck not?

Connor felt detached as they moved away from the closed anomaly, still shaking just a little under the grime covered hoodie. None of them had died, but that was a close call even for them. Becker nearly had died, and his brown eyes tracked slowly over the group until he saw the Captain at the medical truck. Blood from a nasty gash smeared down his forehead, face tight as the EMT worked on an injury Connor couldn’t see. They’d nearly lost him, in a move scarily similar to Stephen’s and it was starting to wear him a bit thin.

  
He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Jack. The callous dismissal of Becker’s life, after everything they've been through, had been the last straw. Maybe Abby had been right earlier, to accuse him of hating the younger man. He did. Jack even had the audacity to stand beside the soldier and complain about his arm to the EMT, from what Connor could hear. It was too much, he needed air, or at least to be far enough from the other he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. Like strangling Abby’s baby brother right in front of her.

  
Danny offered him a quick touch to the shoulder as he passed, a brief comforting weight that leeched some of the tension away. He had a phone to his ear, and from the rueful and slightly pained look to his face, it was Lester currently snapping at him through it. They’d taken liberties by going through the anomaly without telling their boss, and it looked like Danny was going to take the brunt of the blame, again. Connor briefly wondered if Lester felt deep regret every time his self appointed team leader’s decided to give him the middle finger and do their own thing.

  
“Yeah we got the kid… more or less in one piece, yeah….”

  
The ex-cop’s voice trailed away as Connor meandered over to the back of the assembled trucks to take a seat out of the way of the others. He had a small gash of his own, and he gingerly touched the injury without really caring that the grime covering his fingers would probably make things worse. The familiar clatter of soldiers packing away equipment and soft sounds of engines gearing up to leave became background noise. He let his back slowly ease up against the base of a set of stairs he’d come across, the cool metal soothing on his aching back. Maybe he’d just go home, forget about making it back to the ARC for a debrief. Lester would just give him an earful later that night when he got back to the flat anyway, and the call of a bed was really tempting.

  
A soft clatter of booted footsteps above him had Connor twisting to look up at the stairs, surprised to see Becker there, one shoulder bandaged up with thick gauze - right, he’d got caught by something during his heroic emergence from the broken down car next to the anomaly. With most of the dirt and blood cleaned up, the Captain didn’t actually look that bad. A part of Connor admitted that he always looked pretty great, the same quiet part of him that’d found Stephen decidedly distracting even while he outwardly fawned over Abby.

  
“Still kicking then I see.” It’s meant to be teasing, but Connor knows his voice falls a little flat, that he’s still thinking about the sight of Becker with gun in hand, desperate to get the Predators away from the others. It earns him a tired smile, and that paired with the way some of Becker’s normally perfectly styled hair has fallen over his forehead makes Connor swallow thickly. The Captain leans heavily against the railing, barely hiding a wince as his shoulder is jarred by the motion. He wonders if the medical team had actually said Becker could wander off, or if he’d gotten sick of them fussing over him. He seemed like the type to hate babying.

  
Connor cast a look across the large warehouse at the anomaly, just visible and still tightly closed. The silence is a little uncomfortable, tense and he can’t shake the feeling Becker sought him out for an actual reason and not just to escape the med-team’s clutches. But that thought was sweat-inducing, because what reason could the soldier have to talk to Connor of all people?

  
Becker hasn’t looked away when he turns back, dark and unreadable gaze lingering on Connor (hard to meet unless he cracks his neck back a little too far). “Are you okay?” Is what finally passes the man’s lips and it throws him for a second. Connor wasn’t the one facing down mutant future bats with claws the size of his arm.

  
“Ye what?” He said dumbly, with what he’s sure is one of the best gormless expressions in his repertoire.

  
The soldier heaved a sigh, and with a powerful wince he managed to lean further out from the railing on the stairs and alight a warm hand against the side of Connor’s face. Becker twisted his cheek a little to the side, eyes intent on the graze he managed to get across the arch of his opposite cheek during one of the many scuffles in the future. Connor’s very certain it’s nothing worse than a scraped knee - small and quick to heal, but he can’t quite bring himself to complain at the gentle man-handling. Because Becker’s hand is super nice actually, faintly calloused from using his guns but soft and careful not to twinge any of his bruises.

  
There’s something purposeful to the movement, and Connor found himself tilting up into the hold without really thinking about it. When he speaks again, Becker’s voice is quieter, rougher, “Just checking you hadn’t managed to get hurt without me there to stop you doing something stupid.” It should be an insult, and Connor really wanted to take it as one, ready to bristle and snap back that he had bigger things to worry about (like getting Jack’s ungrateful arse out of the hole), but something about the way Becker’s fingers slowly slid back to press against the back of his skull made him stop.

  
It wasn’t exactly a demanding pressure that the Captain applied there, but Connor got enough of a hint to shift closer. His foot scuffed against the dusty warehouse floor, and Becker was still a good foot above him despite closing some of the distance between them. He couldn’t stop his mouth from opening, nervous babble falling from his lips, “Yeah I’m great y’know, not a scratch on me - well some scratches, like that one right there and, actually I think I hear Danny saying we should pack up and move out- get back to the ARC before uh, before Lester does his nut and-”

  
“Connor.” And wow did his name really sound like that, but oh Becker was leaning closer and it was getting a bit hard to breathe, let alone think. Warm breath ghosted across his mouth, “Can you just shut up, for once?”

  
Then there’s a hot mouth slotted against his own, the hand on his face shifted up into his hair to thread long fingers between strands and Connor decided to stop thinking and start doing. His eyes fluttered closed, lips parting on a sharp inhale and they’re not close enough, not quite so he’s on tiptoes, straining upwards into the kiss. Because Becker was kissing him. Him. Connor subconsciously managed to get a hand onto the lowest railing in front of him, braced against it as his whole body arched toward the other.

  
He’d never really thought about kissing Becker. No that was a bold lie, he had, on many occasions, he’d just never thought it could happen (hell, Connor had fantasized about kissing most of the team, at one point or another). Becker kissed with a purpose, like his intention was to render Connor entirely speechless, suck all the air from his lungs and breathe it back in achingly slowly. To memorize the inside of Connor’s mouth with his tongue and yeah, he could get used to this after near death experiences from now on.

  
A guttural roar of a truck engine erupted behind him, and he felt a wave of exhaust hazing past as the lorry parked at his back moved off and out the warehouse. It should concern him because now the rest of the group could see exactly what had kept both him and the Captain from finally heading home, but Becker shifted and a second hand came up to cup the side of his neck and he stopped caring entirely.

  
A throat cleared strongly from only a few feet away, and over the murmurs that had risen with the truck’s departure Danny called across to them, “Alright lover boys, pack it in. Our esteemed leader wants us back at the ARC for a debrief and it didn’t exactly sound like he’d excuse tardiness for a snog.” He’s amused, and overly fond as he says it, and Connor contemplated simply ignoring the call entirely. The lips against his own lightly draw away with a huff of strained laughter, and even with his eyes closed Connor can tell that Becker must be smiling that perfect Eton boy smile of his. A forehead is pressed lightly to his own for a heartbeat, before the warm presence atop the stairs is gone entirely with a set of resounding bootsteps.

  
Ever so slowly he let his eyes blink open, thrown and sluggish as his brain tried to restart itself. Becker was nowhere to be seen, even when he twisted and turned to get a view of the whole warehouse - ignored the face-splitting grin that Sarah aimed his way, and the slightly shocked frown adorning Abby’s face. The other soldiers gathered at the anomaly sight looked overly busy when he glanced their way too, and eventually he gives up. He rocked back down onto his heels and turned to follow behind the others in a sort of dazed stupor, hand raised to press lightly at his swollen lip.

  
So yeah, he’d almost died like ten times in increasingly traumatic ways over the last few hours, but he’d just made out with the hot Captain. And that more than made up for it in his books.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil 3x06 coda because it gives me feels and i'm still in love with these two.

Connor liked to think that once you joined the ARC team in whatever capacity Lester deemed fit you became part of the family, the ragtag bunch of chaotic energies that would have each other’s backs at all times. He’d assumed Becker had got the memo after the relative disaster at the airport. But when he’d been staring down the barrel of the captain’s favourite gun, covered in dirt and sore from innumerable near death experiences at the hands of terror birds, Connor thought maybe he’d got it wrong.

Because he can’t see anything but hard indifference in the Captain’s eyes atop the hill, flanked by Johnson’s men and it breaks a little something inside him. 

Connor knows they hadn’t tried that hard to include Becker in their lives outside the ARC but he’s confident most of them assumed like he had - that the soldier was so tightly professional despite the light teasing he’d started to show, that he wouldn’t want to mix like that. Personally he spent his evenings working late on the artefact, long into the hours of what would be the next day and he’d see Becker cataloguing the armoury or fixing paperwork of the latest incursion, or most commonly, sat in the break room with a cup of tea in his hands looking tired and lonely.

So yeah he’d broken into that space and sat down beside the Captain with a cheeky smile and talked his ear off over and over again waiting to be sent away. But he never was. He’s very sure he knows the most about the soldier barring Lester. 

He’d also thought Becker actually liked them all, from the small bits of affectionate exasperation he’d managed to wrangle from him over those cups of tea in the middle of the night.

But Becker bundles them into cars at gunpoint, makes it clear he’s on her side now. He doesn’t spare any of them another look once they’re captured, doesn’t rise to any of their questions or Danny’s sarcastic and bitter digs at his person. And he avoids even breathing the same air as Connor.

Even when it turns out to all be a ploy, even though Connor smiles along with Abby and can’t help but shoot Johnson a smug little salute as she was escorted from the room, even if he finds Danny and Becker’s friendly sniping comforting, even as they cheer and catcall for Lester’s return. He’s still quietly, achingly hurt.

Abby leans up to kiss his cheek as she goes past, somehow managing to get the one patch of clean skin his face still has after their ordeal. Her hand squeezes his arm gently too, brief but he feels it all the same, sees the knowing look she throws him before she pushes through the Hub doors in search of a shower. He could really do with one too, tux rumpled and sweaty and grimy on him in all kinds of uncomfortable ways.

Becker still hasn’t managed to look at him.

Danny tells him to get cleaned up, fatherly sort of concern leaking into the ex-cop’s voice as he teases him, “You got dirt and blood and feathers all over it Conn, just imagine how much money you’ve burned today.” It’s a dig at the bottles of old musty wine he’d broken against the side of an overgrown bird’s face, and it does make him smile just a little. He ducks under Danny’s arm to avoid further ribbing and he listens as the older man starts laughing to himself, his usual trip-stumble feet taking him out and into the empty locker room. Connor lets the door close behind him with an echoing click, back pressing into the cold metal of his locker as he slides slowly to the floor. His head aches, pounding in time with his heart and isn’t that just icing on the cake.

The blood on his face, streaking through his hair, has gone hard and sticky, clumping it all together and making his skin itch something fierce. He’s sure it’s just another small cut and bump to add to his collection, but he’s woozy and tired now there’s no one to act put together in front of.

He gives a soft, pitiful sort of moan and lets his eyes close. 

Connor can’t tell if he actually passed out or if he just didn’t hear the door open over the sound of his brain slowly trying to crawl out of his ears, but there’s suddenly someone in his space, crouched at his side and gingerly pressing fingers into his scalp and calling his name. They’re gentle even when he hisses against the sudden flare of pain on particular poke makes against the gash at his temple. Ha, Connor, Temple. 

“Yes, you’re very witty now can you please answer my question, were you going to get this checked out by medical?”

Oh, he knows that voice. It’s careful clipped tones and smooth cadence. Becker makes another noise of displeasure at his non answer, but the hands withdraw from his hair and leave him feeling mildly bereft. He’s still mad at Becker of course, but that felt really nice and he’s vaguely annoyed it has stopped.

Strong hands wind under his arms and force him upright, staggering steps toward the low benches in the centre of the room where he’s deposited a little less gently. The blurry form of Becker is in front of him again, crouched with hands on his knees to shake Connor now and then when his eyes start to close again. “Connor, you have to stay awake you idiot, you’ve got a serious concussion and you’re just going to feel worse if we don’t sort it out now.”

That sounds serious, and Connor manages to force himself to at least focus on the man trying to help him, features becoming sharp. It’s surprising. Becker’s face is pinched at the edges, his mouth, his eyes, his brow, all tight with concern. The heavy duty armour he always seems to wear is gone, and he looks odd with just the form fitting tactical shirt they’re made to wear. Less soldier boy.

Connor’s still very much angry at Becker for threatening to shoot them all if they didn’t comply with Christine’s order, at how easily he seemed to switch sides even if he knows it was all a ploy in the end. It hurts. He’s still not sure if he’s saying any of his thoughts aloud, but the way the Captain’s face softens just a little makes him think perhaps he hasn’t managed to wrangle control over his mouth back. 

Becker is gone for a few seconds and he’s missing small chunks of time which can’t be good, but then he’s back with a wet cloth and a small bowl and some kind of emergency first aid kit tucked under his arm. He’s quick and precise as he cleans the grime and blood from his temple, pushes back his tacky hair to get a better look at his injury. God he hopes it won’t need stitches because he really hates needles.

The corner of Becker’s mouth twitches upwards, something close to the smile Connor had thrown his way during their tea sessions in the break room. It’s still really attractive, just like the rest of him but he’s not allowed to think that right now because Becker is still in his bad books. He thinks. But he can’t make his thoughts align properly and the soft sting of water and antiseptic against his cut is very distracting.

Connor was supposed to be having a shower wasn’t he? Getting out of the ruined clothes and washing away the dead bird and the bruises from the day. He must make a move to get up, aborted and unsteady on shaking limbs because Becker’s hand on his thigh squeezes and presses him back down. It’s a hot, heavy presence against his leg and it grounds him a little bit better in the now. He makes a noise of impatience though at the back of his throat, groggy and now possessed by the need to get into his own clothes and curl up on his bed back at Lester’s and just sleep for a solid month.

“Ssh, I’m almost done you big baby.” Softly spoken, breath exhaling across the side of his face and Connor might lean a little into the warm line Becker presents at his front. Just a little bit.

It’s hard and his mouth feels heavy and full of cotton but eventually he manages to get it to work, raspy and quiet between them. “Did you mean it?” He’s met with a heavy silence and he struggles to make his eyes trail up from their weird fixation on the small bit of collarbone he can see past the collar of Becker’s shirt, and try to gauge the look on the soldier’s face.

“‘Cause well, it really looked like you wouldn’t mind shootin’ all of us.”

“Of course I didn’t mean it.” Is the firm response he gets almost harsh, and Becker’s face closes off from the weird sort of gentleness that had been there before his question. And there, it’s hard to see but Connor can spot that flicker of hurt that’s there and gone in an instant as the soldier shifts back and moves to stand.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but Connor’s hand comes up to latch onto the Captain’s wrist. Weak and Becker could very easily break the hold but he doesn’t, simply let’s Connor cling and the pair of them are suspended in that moment for one breath, two. And then Becker is further into Connor’s space that he had been before, large calloused hand sliding behind his neck to tug him ever so slowly closer.

It takes a few moments for the sensation of soft lips against his own to register, but when it does he can’t help the soft sound that is lost between them. He can feel the solid weight of the soldier where he crouches still between his legs, the vague feeling of afternoon stubble against his own cheek. They don’t kiss for long, and it’s not like it sets of fireworks or any of that sort of nonsense but it’s… nice. Soothing and warm over the sting of the not-betrayal. 

“Oh.” Is all he can manage.

“Oh.” Becker echoes with something like laughter on his lips.

Connor’s brain is still trying to catch up with the overload of sensations as Becker gently runs a thumb against the soft skin at the hollow of his throat. His face is thoughtful, and Connor wants to ask what’s on his mind but his tongue seems to have stopped working once again, heavy in his mouth from muted surprise. 

There’s a noise outside the locker room door, soldiers taking and the laughter of men and Becker is gone from his space so quickly Connor almost tips forward off the seat. He doesn’t, manages to catch himself before his momentum gives him even more bruises to deal with. The Captain isn’t looking at him, dark gaze caught on the door as though someone was going to storm in and accuse him of doing something inappropriate and firing worthy. Which well, maybe he was? Connor didn’t read the memo Lester sent round about interpersonal relationships.

What he’s going to do is get up, get washed and get home, pretend this didn’t happen for a few hours before inevitably breaking down on Jenny’s sofa. But what he says is, “Wanna go for a drink, or dinner or something?”

It earns him a somewhat surprised, if not really sweet sort of smile from the soldier, and then it gets him a rueful shake of the head as though Connor has lost his mind and oh, that’s disappointing he’d kind of assumed the kissing meant like, they were going to date or something now but fair enough. Becker clears his throat to get his attention again and oh, he really needed to stop getting head injuries.

“Conn,” And oh, he hasn’t heard Becker use that name before, and he’s never heard it said with such fond exasperation that it borders on affection, boy does he hope it’s affection, “How about we rain check that idea until you’re not three minutes from passing out, yes?”

Yeah that was a good. Solid plan. 

He doesn’t know how he made it home that night, but when he wakes the next morning in his bed, relatively clean and feeling remarkably better with a phone number scrawled on a post-it note beside a glass of water and pain tablets, he gets a pretty good idea.


End file.
